Unconnected but Enchanting
by Eskarina
Summary: A few random short peices I've written in the Harry Potter fandom. Not entirely sure how many of these there's going to be or what pairings they'll be, knowing me mostly HP/GW & RW/HG. Rated for safety, and JK owns harry potter, not me. I take requests.
1. Bella

A/N: No idea how many of these there are going to be or what pairings etc. I'll be exploring... actually, if you have a request, go ahead and make it in the reviews, I'll do my best to fufill.

**Bella**

I should be happy. It's the happiest day of my life, it's the day every witch dreams about.

So why am I sitting in my dressing room glaring at my reflection?

Of course I know why. Because no amount of sleek-easy is smoothing out the knots in my curls and the veil makes me look like a chicken crashed into my head. Mother and Cissy picked it. I didn't get a lot of say in what I wore to my wedding, no surprise there. Bella can't be expected to pick something pretty, after all.

No surprise that Cissy's bridesmaid gown makes her look like a princess. I've already heard four people ask if she's the bride, through my open window. That bitch. Perfect, beautiful Cissy.

It's not fair. The only reason I'm even being married is because the Malfoy boy's proposed to Cissy and by tradition the oldest daughter has to be married before the younger. So they scrambled and found a boy I didn't object too much to and planned a wedding in record time.

He's not _so_ bad I suppose. He's just not the man I love.

But he's got money and he's sort of close to my age and in any case, the important thing is that Cissy can marry the Malfoy boy. I hate him as well, he's another pretty, perfect little example of a pureblood.

Not like the ugly big sister with knotty hair and a constant scowl.

My dress makes me look like a dead hen. I _said_ I wanted a silver dress, white makes me look ridiculous. But no, I had to wear white, or what would people think?

They're going to think I look like a dead hen.

I wanted to get married inside, use the dining hall of the house as a ballroom, but father insisted that it would be a shame to waste the sunshine at this time of year.

It's raining. The elves are scrambling to put tents up. And it's humid as hell. By midday the place is going to reek of drying robes. I'll look like a _wet_ dead hen.

My bouquet's full of white roses. I wanted lilies, I almost got my way on that one before Cissy showed up with a herbology book and pointed out that they're funeral flowers. I remember her once telling me she wanted white roses at her wedding.

I'm a dry-run for her big day.

The wedding cake was the worst bit. Wizarding tradition says the topper is the bride and groom's patronus', animated atop the fondant. His is a big wolfhound thing, not unpleasant to look at, appropriate for an old wizarding family.

Mine's a bat.

It's not like it's an ugly little bat, it's got pretty eyes and big ears. But Mother wouldn't hear of such a silly match up on her daughter's wedding cake. A bat and a wolfhound? Unacceptable!

Cissy was _grinning_ in the background the whole time she said that. They tried to change my patronus for weeks, get me attached to some other animal or person to change the silver shape. It didn't work.

But It's the one thing on my wedding day that I've been allowed to pick and keep, there's nothing they can do about it, it's stayed a bat.

There's a knock on my door.

'Come in.'

Cissy almost skips into the room. Making a show of performing her maid of honour duties. Mother's probably sent her in to try and make me look halfway decent and make sure I don't run for it.

'Oh you look loves Bella!' she squeals, tightening my corset. I wish she'd suffocate me, maybe then mother and father would get angry with her.

She scrapes a brush through my hair and I bite my lip enough to draw blood. I don't think she even notices, too busy cooing about how lovely everything looks, and isn't it a shame about the rain but they say its good luck on your wedding day. Smug bitch.

She heads for the door, 'I have to get back to the guests Bella, oh, by the way, mother thought we should make an adjustment to the cake, I hope you don't mind.'

She's gone before I can question it. I fly across the room to my window and peer out to the food table in the grounds, through the humid haze the rain left behind.

The white monstrosity is already melting in the warmth of the sun. But it would be too much to hope for that the whole rotten thing would be gone before anyone saw.

There's his Wolfhound, safe and sound.

My bat is gone. In its place a swan is standing, elegant and graceful, the picture of feminine beauty, everything a witch on her wedding day should be.

Cissy's patronus is a swan.

There's another knock. Mother's voice cuts through the air. 'Bellatrix, we're ready for you now!'

No they're not. No-one is ever going to be ready for what I'm going to do to them for this final indignity, on my wedding day.

'Bellatrix!'

I clench my bouquet so tightly the flowers wilt. Narcissa's choice.

'Coming, mother.' I reply, like a good daughter.


	2. Seat

Hermione beamed. She was she realised, for the first time since the war ended, _happy_. Genuinely _happy_, and it was stunning.

She was sitting on the cracked leather sofa in her boyfriend's flat; the place Ron and Harry were living in while they completed their auror training and Hermione and Ginny finished their last year of school. All four had spent some hours arguing over these decisions, Hermione had been furious with the boys for not wanting to finish their educations, Ron had thought Hermione daft to want to go back to school when there was a job in the ministry waiting for her. Ginny and Harry had been a complete reverse; Harry had to almost push Ginny back to Hogwarts for her last year, and had taken some persuading from his girlfriend to consider the auror training being offered to him.

Still, eventually all their fights had been settled and they came to the comftable routine they were in now, the two girls were spending most weekends over in what was affectionately referred to as 'the man flat', having obtained special permission from Headmistress McGonagall, who had declared that the school and the world owed them far more than mere trips home every weekend.

They'd ordered take-out, and all four had flopped around to watch a film on the completely un-magical TV. Harry had been insistent on a few muggle comforts and Ron was loathe to complain, having recently fallen in love with the odd device, Hermione should have expected it really, he had his father's fascination with muggle artifacts.

They all had their special places to sit, Harry in the armchair, Ginny in his lap, Hermione always stretched out on the sofa (usually with a book on her knees), and Ron would sit on the floor, sometimes resting his head on her stomach.

'Hermy's dreeeaming.' Ginny cooed from her place on Harry's lap. She giggled, 'Thinking about my horrible brother?'

Hermione blushed slightly, 'I am not.' She mumbled, and grabbed a slice of pizza to cover her embarrassment. It didn't really help, as she bit into the food a string of cheese stretched unattractively from her mouth to the slice. She blushed harder as Harry and Ginny giggled.

Ron, however, smiled, and before she could object, he bit the string off and nibbled his way to her lips, pecking them briefly before muttering, 'You're so gorgeous.'

'Eurgh.' Harry commented. 'I know you like your food Ron but…'

Ron grinned. 'I like food and Hermione, so that was just the best thing ever. And stop with that face, I've seen you and Ginny do loads worse, and it's twice as bad for me because she's my baby sister.'

This time Hermione laughed, here was the reason why she was so happy, Ron thought she was gorgeous even when she felt her most disgusting. As far as he was concerned he was the luckiest guy in the world simply to be in the same room as her.

Harry broke the silence, sighing and giving an exaggerated yawn that Hermione knew was all show and no substance. 'Well, I think I'm going to turn in.' he said softly as he rose to his feet and left for his room.

Hermione knew what was coming next; she timed five minutes before Ginny silently rose to her feet and crept out while Ron was distracted by an explosion on the screen. Those two had got their act down to a fine art, of course Ron had to be aware that his sister and best friend were at the very least sharing a bed, but they were careful not to rub his face in it.

'You all right Hermy?

She jumped slightly, 'Hm? Yes…' she paused, then smiled and nodded, ruffling his hair with one hand. 'I'm just… really happy.' She sighed, sitting up a little, 'You know you could sit up here with me, right?' she patted the cracked leather. 'Plenty of room.'

Ron shook his head. 'No… that's your spot.' His ears went slightly pink. 'I only sit there when you're at school.'

Hermione blinked. 'What? Why?' She reached and stroked one thumb across the back of his ear, knowing it would make him shudder, she was one of the few people who knew about the sensitivity of his ears, for obvious reasons.

He shivered at the touch, then mumbled, 'Because if you've been sitting there all weekend, it smells like you and feels like you and… it's like sitting with you when you're at school.'

She felt a smile creep across her face from the very middle of herself, and slid herself from the sofa onto the floor by Ron, resting her head on his shoulder and whispering, 'If you like, I'll spray my perfume on your pillow, so it's like sleeping with me.'

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, the dreaded subject of their not yet sleeping together was one that didn't need approaching.

Ron smirked, 'Oh, I imagine sleeping with you will be loads better than your perfume.'

Then suddenly they were both laughing.


	3. The Bravest Wizard

A/N: before someone decides to flame me for this chapter for it being angsty or deviating from J.K's version of things etc etc. ; It was written as a request for a friend who was pondering about a different Weasley dying during the final battle. I've tried to handle it sensitively but if you still have a problem with it, please voice your objections in a constructive manner, not just blind abuse, mmkay? :)

There was no body. That was the hardest part.

They were all there, the family and the friends who might has well have been. Fellow students, teachers, even the Malfoy's sent a wreath of lilies.

It was a beautiful morning, some cruel twist of the knife for the family. It ought to have been raining, foggy, but no, there wasn't even a mist. It was just sunny and in its own odd way, beautiful.

There was a photo, taken by the late Colin Creevey, which was all they had. Avada Kedvara left no bodies. Another cruel twist, he was smiling in it, a teenager with no cares, either arm around his two best friends, laughing at some internal joke.

His father took the podium first, to say a few words about his youngest.

'Ron, well, I suppose we never paid him the attention we should have, he was always the youngest brother, always had to be content with hand-me-downs, even the poor boy's first wand was someone else's…' the old man cleared his throat. 'But the thing we have to remember is that our Ronald never complained about it. He was a good boy, took it in his stride. Our boy… our littlest boy…' his voice petered out. He turned to look upon the photo. 'I wish we'd had more time to spend on him.'

His brothers then, and not all of them. Charlie and Percy chose to stay with their parents, providing what little comfort they could. Bill was busy switching between comforting his wife and his sister in their joint sadness.

It was the twins, the two endless sources of jokes in Hogwarts, who solemnly walked in sync to the podium beside their dead brother's photo. There were no synchronised smiles today. Behind the podium they held each other's hands.

'Ron was an irritating little brother.' Began George. 'He got into all our stuff, whined to mum all the time, followed us everywhere and told on us all the time.'

'He was also the best little brother anyone could ask for.' Fred continued. 'Always willing to play whatever game we wanted because he just wanted to be included, covered up for us about a billion times and he had the best ideas for adventures.'

Together, the two spoke, 'We'd give anything to have him back for one more day, just so we could tell him that.'

The photo waved at them as they walked back to their seats.

There was a light hum of conversation, soft murmurs of memories of the boy who had died far too young. Gentle sobs from those whose composure broke. Percy slipped out of the black tent and was found in the kitchen of the house sobbing into his hands about all the times he told Ron off for minor offences.

Harry was the last to speak. When there was a lull in the conversation and everyone had composed themselves, he slowly stood up.

'You're wrong, Arthur, he did complain about being bottom of the ladder, so to speak.' The boy who lived's voice cut across the funeral tent like a knife. 'He hated it, and he hated having to live up to all his brothers before him. He didn't have ideas for adventures, he went out and had them.' Harry's voice cracked slightly. 'Ron was the bravest wizard who fought that day, he braved his worst fears just for two, small, insignificant people. Anyone else, any other wizard in the world, when faced with a boy destined for death and a girl looked down on for her blood, well any other wizard would have cut us out. Ron didn't. Ron just saw his two best friends in danger. In our time at school he sacrificed little pieces of himself to us, one at a time, he braved dangers he never should have had to face, he even overcame all his insecurities, because what we had mattered more. He defeated a Horcrux with all the love in his heart.' Harry blinked hard, removing his glasses and wiping the tear stains from them, his shoulders shook with the effort of keeping his grief inside. 'Ron never had a lot to spare, but he shared his heart of gold with everyone.'

Molly had to be taken back into the house and given a glass of firewhiskey. Arthur snuck off to his garden shed for a quiet smoke. The assembled mourners took their turns walking up to the photo and saying their own private goodbyes.

Only one did not walk up with the others, a woman in black with a veil over her face, a cruel parody of a wedding gown. She sat silently in her seat, watching the photo and waiting.

Only when the crowd dispersed, to the house to comfort the family or to their homes to allow some peace, only then did she stand and walk to the photo.

She lifted the netting on her hat and whispered directly to the image.

'Why didn't you say anything sooner? Why didn't you just ask me nicely to the Yule ball? I'd have dropped Krum in a second if you'd asked me nicely. Why didn't you say yes when I invited you to Slughorn's party, I'd have danced the whole night with you, I wouldn't have cared if you stood on my toes. Why didn't you at least kiss me earlier?' tears raced down her cheeks, cutting lines into her make up. 'You're such a damn idiot Weasley… I love you… I always did, right from when we met, and if you'd just shown you felt the same, just once…'

She fell to her knees, sobbing against the frame. The photo image looked puzzled, and tried in vain to stroke her hair.

'Hermione?'

She stood, mopping at her eyes. 'Yes Harry?'

He walked over to her, hugging her for what little comfort it gave. 'Come on, let's get you inside, you need a drink.'

At the tent entrance, they looked back. The photo kept smiling.


	4. Everything and Nothing

A/N: I have very slightly plagerised some of what Scorpious says from a sitcom called 'The Vicar of Dibley', the lines were so utterly perfect for the situation and I couldn't resist, apologies. :)

Scorpious Malfoy wasn't afraid of very much, not after six years at Hogwarts anyway. He'd survived detentions in the forbidden forest, Quidditch matches, angry portraits falling on him, moaning Myrtle and on at least one occasion, giant carnivorous umbrellas. (Hagrid was getting experimental in his lessons)

He'd survived the ear-splitting embarrassment of asking his long-time best friend Rose to go to the reinstated Yule ball with him, and the dance itself. He'd got through kissing her without her laughing in his face. He'd told her he loved her and she'd said it back.

He had even, wonder of wonders, gone to her home and met her parents, not the easiest of things as the moment she had declared him to be her boyfriend, her father (a prominent auror), had leapt to his feet and attempted to turn him into a cockroach, and would have succeeded if Rose's mother wasn't an infinitely better magician than her husband.

But this, this was scary. Standing in his father's immaculate study, the almost white-haired man himself sat behind a desk of ebony wood, scowling in contempt at him, not out of any particular hatred; but because that was his father's usual expression and his face tended to settle that way.

'Well, what was it you wanted to see me about, Scorpious?'

The boy shuffled uncomfortably. 'Well, father, it's just that… well, father, I'm engaged to be married.'

Draco Malfoy's face broke into the widest grin Scorpious had ever seen. 'Wonderful my boy! Who is she? Ah, no, let me guess, Disiderata Wingthropp? The girl you said was good at potions? Good old family.'

Scorpious winced, Disiderata was a prime example of what the in-breeding of the pureblood classes could do to genetics. The girl was mono browed and (it was rumoured) born with flippers and a vestigial tail. 'No.' he replied quickly.

'Ahh, Eliza Bullrod then?' Draco winked, rising from his chair and spinning his wand. 'Not an aristrocratic lot but good people, and all purebloods. My goodness we must have an announcement in the Prophet! Ronald Weasley will turn _green_.' Draco spat the name of the hated blood traitor. 'His mudblood daughter was sweet on you for a time, wasn't she? Thank Merlin you're shot of her.'

Scorpious clenched his fists till his nails bit into his palms, he so hated his father's attitude, especially to the Weasley's, a family who, despite past grievances between their families, had welcomed him after a fashion.

They had opened his eyes to how a family should behave; the dinner he'd had with then had stunned him simply by being such a stark contrast to his own family meals.

Rose helped her mother set the table; Scorpious had never seen his own mother lift a finger when it came to housework, which was for house elves, not fine ladies. She certainly never asked for his help with anything, she seemed to think he made the manor look untidy.

Rose's little brother, Hugo, had trailed around after Scorpious, telling him jokes and getting under everyone's feet, generally making a nuisance of himself, and none of them seemed to mind. Hermione had tutted under her breath, but then cuddled her protesting son to her and called him her little darling. As far as Scorpious was aware, the closest his parents got to affection like this was a stiff pat on the shoulder or peck on the cheek, their only pet name for him was 'My boy.'

And the crowning surprise had been the moment when Scorpious had witnessed his girlfriend's father, Ronald, pecking his wife's cheek gently as she put his dinner in front of him and called her 'My love'. Scorpious had never seen his parents do such a thing, matter of fact he couldn't remember a time he'd seen them touching each other.

'Father, can we start this conversation again? How about you just ask me, whom it is I am going to marry?' he managed to force the words out without the anger.

Draco smirked indulgently, 'Very well, my boy. Whom are you going to marry?'

Scorpious swallowed. 'Rose Weasley, father.' He paused, then, hurrying before his father exploded, garbled out, 'Father you would like her if you got to know her, she's so bright and kind and beautiful father, what is more I love her desperately!'

Draco's eyes blazed. 'ROSE WEASLEY! I do not believe this! You come in here and tell me you mean to sully my family name by marrying that filthy, ginger, mudblood _scum_?'

'Don't ever speak of her like that!' Scorpious snapped back. 'Father open your eyes! No-one believes all that stuff about pure and half-blood, not since the war! There isn't a single wizard or witch alive who doesn't have some muggle-blood in them, and more to the point, if you loved me it wouldn't matter to you if she was a half-blood, pure-blood or even a giant!'

'How dare you!' Draco snarled, turning and storming to his desk once more. His hand snatched up his wand, calling out 'Accio will!'

The parchment flew from a drawer and Scorpious ducked as it jettisoned onto the desk. Draco grinned manically 'I'm drawing up a new will, right this moment!'

Scorpious sighed. He'd known it would come down to money, it always did with his father, but somehow he'd hoped that just this once, the man would see reason. It wasn't the first time his father had threatened to cut him out of the family fortune and Scorpious had long since realised that he didn't mean a word of it.

'Father, you don't mean that, it's just an idle threat.' He replied, his voice even. 'Like all the other times I haven't been what you wanted. Like when I was sorted into Gryfinndor, or when I didn't get onto the Quidditch team the first time and I refused to let you bribe them.'

Draco growled, scribbling new clauses furiously, 'Oh this is no threat my boy. If you marry that Weasley brat you will no longer be welcome in this house, I will no longer consider you my son and as my new will attests,' he flung the parchment across the room, it hit Scorpious in the chest and landed at his feet. 'You will have nothing!'

Scorpious raised one perfectly blonde eyebrow, knelt and examined the paper. Then he slowly placed it back on his father's desk.

'On the contrary, sir,' he spoke softly. 'I will have everything in the world that I desire.'

He turned and swept out of the office, down the long hall, and outside. He considered going back for his things, then shook his head. Either his father would relent, or he, Scorpious Malfoy, would make it without an ounce of help, as he had done all through his school years.

Because though Draco hated that his son was in Gryffindor, the house made Scorpious courageous, and though he had to work twice as hard to make friends among people who considered him a snake in lion's clothing, he had managed it. Though he hadn't made the Quidditch team the first time he tried, he practiced day after day, making himself use the worst school brooms he could find, and the second time he tried, he made Chaser with flying colours.

Living without his family's fortune was a comparative breeze.

He mounted his broom and rose into the air, heading for the Weasley's pleasant cottage, to Hermione's sweet smile and reassuring good-sense, to Hugo's ability to see the bright in everything, to Ron's begrudging acceptance, to Rose.


	5. Up to No Good

**A/N: Written in response to Apanie's request in the reviews for a Marauder's story. Hope it doesn't disappoint as it's the first time I've written these four. As before, any requests, say so in rewiews and I'll do my best to fufill.**

Sometimes, before you can be friends, you have to fight. Bullying is something that happens in all schools, muggle and magic, boarding and public. Some teachers have observed that before certain ages, children are really more animals than anything, and like animals, will pick on the weakest member of the herd.

Remus whimpered as he felt another paper plane crash into the back of his head. He'd only been at school a week and already the other boys had noticed that he was;

A. Shorter and more slightly built than all of them

B. Cursed with rather long and flowing hair (a side-effect of his 'moonlight problem' )

And of course,

C. A coward, too afraid to tell a teacher when his things were stolen or his homework destroyed.

And so poor little Remus Lupin was currently at the bottom of the class food-chain, the only person with whom he could even hold a conversation without being teased or worse was 'Podgy Peter' as he was known.

'You ought to tell, you know.' Peter hissed as, from the table behind them, there came the sound of giggles.

Remus shook his head. 'It'd only make it worse.' He glanced back and scowled as his eyes met the grinning faces of James and Sirius, the two leaders of the bullying, and the two who had thrown the plane. It wasn't fair, they were both bright and funny and handsome boys, no-one ever suspected them of any wrong-doing.

Peter gave a little sigh over the plight of his friend. 'You're too nice, that's your problem Remus. If you'd fight back a bit they'd stop.'

'This way I don't end up bruised.' Remus answered, not wanting to confess that in fact, he hadn't tried to fight back because he feared the loss of control that might come with it. He knew only too well that just one punch thrown might set off some internal trigger inside him.

At the next full moon, he'd remember. Only he wouldn't be able to control the anger and the hurt. He wouldn't be able to stop the animal side of him that wanted so badly to rip James' smug smile from his face. The part of him that wanted to rip Sirius' throat out and bay to the moon that he was the true leader of the pack.

He'd be sent away, he wasn't sure where, because he was still too young for prison, but certainly the school wouldn't have him anymore. The Ministry would probably have him put in a special home for disturbed children.

'Remus? Remus?' Peter squeaked anxiously, noticing his blonde friend staring off into space as if hypnotised.

Remus didn't respond. Not until the ink-bomb hit the back of his head and in one burst turned his blonde hair blue. Behind them, James and Sirius howled with laughter.

Lupin stood up so fast that his chair was knocked over. The teacher, finally noticing the commotion, commanded the boys to stop, but it was too late.

Remus spun around, leaning over James and Sirius' desk as ink dripped from his hair and robes. His bright eyes darkened and his mouth opened in a snarl that showed just the barest hint of fangs.

He didn't say anything. He didn't have to, the growl was enough. Although of course, he only turned in the moon's light, sometimes, rarely, when he was pushed far enough, he could tap into the wolf's senses; right now he could smell the fear rising from his two torturers. They were afraid of him.

The shock of that thought was what brought Remus back, forcing down his inner wolf to the darker parts of his mind, where it belonged. He'd never known anyone be afraid of him before, not when he was human shaped anyway.

James and Sirius were given detentions, of course, and Peter hovered around Remus like a tugboat for the rest of the day, asking in a concerned voice if he was going to do anything about the ink-bomb incident.

Remus wasn't sure himself, it was odd, but it seemed that the one incident of him growling at the two bullies had knocked their confidence; they hadn't bothered either Remus or Peter for the rest of the day. Though Remus was ashamed and afraid of having lost his precious control, it was a marvellous thing for the two to be allowed to eat their meals and do their homework in peace. It was wonderful to be able to go to their dormitory room unafraid of horrible things in their beds.

It was late when James and Sirius got back from their detention. Remus and Peter, veterans of the miseries teenagers could inflict onto one another, both wisely pretended to be already asleep, easier to avoid fights that way.

Oddly, James and his own friend seemed rather nervous of waking the other two. They got into their pyjamas in total silence and took care to avoid the squeaking floorboard as they got into their beds.

Remus was almost sure the two tormenters had fallen asleep for real until he heard from the bed beside his the faintest hiss of 'Psst.'

He waited. It came again. 'Psst.'

'What?' he muttered.

James shifted in his bed, 'Sorry about the ink. We were only messing about.'

'You're always messing about, it's not bloody funny!' Remus snapped in a low voice. Perhaps he was tapping into his wolf again, because he could smell the embarrassment coming from James' bed.

'Yeah… Siri said that as well. He said we're both being dickheads, winding you and Podgey… I mean, Peter up.' James replied. 'Do we have to have a massive discussion about it or can I just say sorry for everything up til now?'

Remus blinked against his pillow. He hadn't expected sympathy from Sirius, of all people and he certainly never foresaw James Potter apologising for anything, the boy had a kind of cock-sure manner that suggested he'd never regret a single action.

Remus swallowed, he wasn't too proud to accept a peace offering when he saw it. 'All right. Apology accepted.'

There was a short pause, then that soft voice hissed again, 'Hey, me and Siri are going to put pins on the Slytherin's chairs tomorrow in Transfiguration, you want to help?'

Remus grinned. Of course, being a victim himself, he balked at the idea of picking on anyone just to make himself feel strong and big, but the Slytherins… well, they were the sort of people who called werewolves 'half-breeds' and insisted that they should all be sterilised.

'Ok.' He whispered to James. 'I'll get Peter in on it in the morning.'


	6. Moondance

**A/N: I don't know if this technically counts as a Luna fanfic, but she is basically the central character so that's what I'm calling it. Thanks Apanie for appealing for reviews for me, PM me sometime, we'll talk fanfics. :) Warning for huge amounts of sexuality but not the actual act, and I guess voyeurism?**

Three of the Weasley boys had one great secret, one which they never let their parents or other siblings or even their best friends find out about; a secret to do with their neighbour across the hills.

Oddly, it was Ron to find out about it first, an accidental discovery made one morning when in a fit of teenage temper, he had decided to run away from home. The discovery sent him back home before anyone realised he was gone. Of course not long after Fred and George found out as well, following their little brother and discovering the reason for his clandestine broom-rides.

Just one morning a year, that was all, the three would wake before everyone in the house, just as dawn's grey fingers were creeping across the sky, and they would venture slowly to the broom shed. In silence they would take each one and walk a little way from the house, just far enough that they wouldn't be heard.

They never ever spoke, that would have made it somehow dirty, they had agreed that it wasn't to be made into something sick and perverted when they discovered it. They simply flew in silent formation to a little hill close to the oddly-shaped house.

They would sit in silence and wait. The first time they had made themselves hidden, but then at school she had calmly approached them and told them in her sweet, soft voice that she didn't mind them watching, but she did insist that they not to come too close.

Just as the sun was beginning to crest the horizon, the door of the house would creak open, the boys would see it and sit up, eyes raptly fixed on the figure that emerged.

Thin and so perfectly white all over, she was striking against the grass as she walked to the little patch of bare ground. They always marvelled at her robe, always the same one, a long green affair embroidered with all manner of flowers and wildlife, tied around her waist with a gold rope.

She walked slowly to the centre of the bare grass, looking around as if she were on a stage. She would smile at her three watchers, not her usual vague smile that spoke of dreaminess. This smile was one of seduction, her eyes would flash with something like lust. Of course, it was all about lust, was it not?

Then she would throw off the robe. Beneath she was… well, naked, but such an ugly word never seemed right for how she looked, so thin and perfectly white from her hair to her toes, the curve of her breasts and stomach just barely outlined in shadow from the dawn, her legs taught with feminine muscle and eyes speaking of desire. The boys all agreed in their own minds that she was not naked, but _skyclad_.

She would toss her hair over her shoulder, perhaps giving a soft laugh at the blushes on their faces, then she would begin the dance.

It never varied, and yet afterwards they always agreed it was never the same either. Each step a carefully chosen one, every twirl and twist turned her into another work of art. She bounced happily across the grass as a child at play, then suddenly she would turn and she was a woman, eyeing her watchers with a gleam in her eye that declared she knew the deep desires that made them wake in the middle of the night, panting and sticky.

It was to each of their shames that during these observations they would grow aroused, but she never seemed angered by what they thought of as disrespect. After all, that was rather the whole point, the season of new life was also the season of lust.

She merely laughed in a voice that could have been the downfall of saints, and continued her dance, until before their disbelieving eyes, flowers began to bloom at her feet. Wherever her dainty toes landed, daisies and violets grew in seconds. Suddenly what had been bare grass would be covered with flowers so fragrant that they could notice it even at their distance.

It was an old magic, thought now to be nothing but silly superstition, condemned by many witches because they thought it nothing more than an excuse invented by men who wished to see young women laid bare. After all, no flowers grew when _they _danced.

Truth be told, they just didn't know the right steps.

Only when she could no longer dance without crushing the blooms would she stop. Then she would smile dreamily once more and pull her robe back on, perhaps giving her audience a little wave.

None of them would have looked twice at Luna at school, or in Diagon alley, once the spell was over their minds would return to their respective girlfriends. But out on the moors, on the first morning of spring, just for a few moments Luna was a tigress and fairy; Artemis and Demeter all rolled into one. To put a blunt name to a beautiful thing, she was a goddess when she danced.


	7. Who Gives this Woman?

**A/N: A bit of daddy and daughter stuff because it's so cute and Ron's everyone's favourite ginger. :)**

Ron was not proud of himself; He was, after all, the wrong side of forty to be sulking in his parents back garden. It was supposed to be a happy day, his daughter was getting married. Molly Weasley was delighted, running around in her kitchen with various daughters-in-law finishing off the wedding buffet; Arthur was happily putting the finishing touches on the tent, the very same one that every Weasley had married underneath for the last two generations.

Rose had been very insistent about that, Ron recalled. She'd had to fight tooth and nail with her husband-to-be's family about that, it'd taken them months to even agree to the wedding at all, but the very idea that the only heir to the Malfoy fortune should be married in a tent in someone's back garden… but of course, Rosie had won in the end.

So yes, the grandparents were enjoying the day immensely. Rosie had asked Lily, Roxanne and Lavinia Longbottom (Young James Potter was completely smitten with the girl in question) to be bridesmaids, the gang were currently secreted somewhere in the house 'getting ready' with Hermione supervising.

_Hermione_. Ron thought to himself as he wandered over to the table where wedding presents and the cake itself were displayed. His wife had been no help whatsoever over the last few months, she kept telling him that she wasn't going to help him either dissuade Rosie from the wedding or turn Scorpious into a pot plant.

Ron stopped at the wedding cake, staring at the two figures atop it. In keeping with Wizard tradition the topper was the bride and groom's patronus', animated so that they moved atop the cake. Ron stared mournfully at the Pearlescent figures, a Kestrel and a Scorpion, odd but somehow looking _right_ together.

They always did, Ron thought mournfully. Even a Jack Russell puppy and an otter could be made to look like they belonged together, he could recall how his mum had crafted a tiny frosting stream atop his wedding cake and the two fondant figures had played happily together though the service.

He was so lost in watching the two that he almost didn't hear Scorpious say 'Are you all right, sir?'

Ron turned, glaring at the platinum blonde boy who was stealing away his precious Rose. 'I've had better days.' Ron didn't bother to hide his distaste for the Malfoy boy, he'd promised his wife and daughter that he'd be civil, but not nice.

Scorpious nodded, eyeing the topper himself. 'I know you hate this. If it's any consolation, it's making my father furious.' The boy managed a small smile, 'I believe he tried to have a curse put upon the rings. Don't worry, he didn't manage it.'

Ron shrugged. 'That doesn't make it any better.'

Scorpious sighed and rubbed the back of his head. '…Sir, I appreciate you don't really like me much but the thing is… I do love Rose. I fully intend to spend the rest of my life making Rose as happy as I possibly can. I know it can't be easy to watch her leaving, so to speak, but please trust me, she thinks more of you than anyone in the world, in marrying me she is most certainly not forgetting how much she loves you.'

A few moments silence followed as Ron tried first to understand the boy's statement, (he did have such a refined way of speaking) and second to recall the day when he married Hermione. More precisely, two days before the wedding.

He could remember with pinpoint accuracy the way he had found Wendall Granger standing outside the Burrow, staring at the sky in total silence. The way he'd somehow instinctively known what was wrong, didn't wear his heart on his sleeve as Ron did, but any idiot could see the man was mourning the loss of his little girl.

Ron could remember how, blushing furiously, he'd promised the man that no matter what happened he'd try to make Hermione happy. He hadn't put it as eloquently as Scorpious, but the words were the same.

Ron sighed. 'I know you will.' He replied to Scorpious. 'And I know there's no point in me arguing anymore, Rosie does whatever she wants no matter what anyone says. She always has.'

Scorpious laughed, 'That's true, I've never known anyone as stubborn as her, but that's part of why I love her. She's passionate about things she believes in… you should have seen some of the arguments she's had with my grandfather over blood status.' The blonde boy paused, and Ron saw, for a moment, the entirety of the boy's adoration for Rose in his eyes. 'She was magnificent.'

Ron nodded, then sighed and looked at his watch, '…Almost time. You better go find where you're supposed to stand… and I'd better go see if she still wants me to walk her down the aisle.'

The bridesmaids were shooed away easily by Hermione, who was in full wedding-planner mode and in no mood to be argued with. Sternly she ordered the three giggling girls (all in pale green) from the bride's dressing room (Ron's own old bedroom), then, in the hallway outside, turned to the father of the bride and managed to soften her voice and expression enough to say 'You've got ten minutes with her, make them count Ronald.' In a voice that still sounded far too much like a professor at Hogwarts.

Ron smiled weakly. 'Hermione, I'm losing the only woman who means as much to me as you do.'

Hermione blinked, and then the real softness came over her, the side of Hermione he usually only saw after he'd made some great romantic gesture, 'Oh, Ron…Go talk to her.' She whispered, pecking Ron's cheek and scurrying down the stairs. Ron had a strong suspicion it was so he didn't see her tears.

He sighed and opened the door of what had once been his bedroom. And instantly he felt his heart stop.

Rose was busily arranging her veil on top of her head before a mirror. All in white with pale pink roses hemming her dress and more in her hair, she was a vision to rival Hermione on their wedding day. Her gorgeous copper hair had been sleeked until it shone, although taming that mess of red would never be achieved, so she still had her mane of red hair flowing down her back. One of her numerous helpers had enchanted more of those pretty pink flowers into her locks and as the sun burst through the window and hit her, his daughter shone.

'Rosie…' he whispered. 'God, you look beautiful.'

Rose turned, and smiled sweetly at her father. 'Thanks, I should after all the bloody work that lot did on me.' She sighed and brushed a hand over her dress. '…Do you think I'll be ok, daddy?'

Ron's hear ached. He longed to tell her that if she wanted to back out now, he'd go and tell everyone for her, he'd fly her away on his broom and make everything ok, because nothing meant more to him than his little girl's happiness.

'…You're gonna wow them all Rosie, Scorpious is a lucky little bastard.' He saw the fire flash in her eyes and grinned, 'Don't snap at me for that baby, daddy has a right to hate the sight of that rotton little sod. I mean, he's the man taking my little girl away.'

Rose stopped her fussing over her dress and veil when he said that and turned slowly to face her father. A pale blush stole over her cheeks and she whispered softly, 'I love you daddy. No-one could ever take me away.'

She covered the distance between them in seconds, hugging her father tightly and burrowing her face into his shoulder. Ron clutched her like his world would end if he let go, because in some ways, it would. Rose had always been his princess; the one person he felt had always looked up to him, no matter how badly he let everyone else down, Rosie always thought the world of him.

The words exchanged between the two after those moments needn't be examined, any father who has given away his daughter will know them well. All too soon, Ron found himself walking his daughter down the aisle to Scorpious Malfoy.

'Who presents this woman in holy matrimony?'

Ron had to fight the urge to seize hold of Rose and shout that Scorpious couldn't have her, she was _his_, no-one else would ever appreciate how utterly amazing she was.

Instead he mumbled, 'I do.' To the minister, then took his place with Hermione to watch the wedding.

'The bride and groom have written their own vows, which they shall now recite.'

Scorpious smiled, taking Rose's hands in his own, 'Rose…to ask me to put into words how I feel for you is to ask the impossible, magic had achieved great deal, but it has yet to invent enough words to describe you, my wonderful Rose.' The boy's pale face flushed pink. 'There is however, a muggle rhyme which may begin to express my commitment to you, and so I borrow their words…' Scorpious cleared his throat. 'The sweetest flower that blows, I give you as we part, For you it is a rose…For me it is my heart. You have my heart to do with what you will Rose.'

Ron shut his eyes; he felt Hermione's hand tighten on his own. He forced his eyes open again. The first thing he settled his eyes on was the wedding cake topper again.

A Falcon and a Scorpion.

Ron found himself bizarrely wondering how many of the guests realized that the scorpion was Rose's patronus. It had changed from a cute little Labrador puppy sometime during her fifth year at school.

Standing before the priest and both their families; Rose swallowed anxiously. Ron felt a tinge of pride to see her show no fear or embarrassment beyond this faint flush of colour.

'Scorpy… I'm not much good at speeches; I guess I'm going to let our guests down here because I don't have your way with words. I'm no poet and my mum will vouch for me, I'm no writer either.' The guests gave a little laugh at this, apart from the corner that housed the Malfoys, who were scowling. 'All I can say is that I love you Scorpious Malfoy. It doesn't matter to me what your blood is, how much money you have, what house you were in. I don't care about any of that, and I certainly don't care if anyone else thinks any of that's important. So long as I'm with you, I have everything I care about.'

In rapt silence, Ron watched his daughter and Scorpious exchange rings, heard the priest name his daughter 'Lady Rose Weasley-Malfoy.'; Ron had told her that joining the names like that sounded daft, but of course no-one argued with his girl. He watched them kiss as husband and wife.

And though it broke his heart, he managed to clap for them as they walked back down the aisle together.


	8. Mischeif totally Managed

Filch had not improved over time and a war had not made him any more pleasant towards the children in what he considered 'his' school. Oh, McGonagall was running the place sure enough, but Filch had always considered the teachers to be more like furniture, after all, the place wouldn't function if he wasn't there to sweep it up.

The students, he felt, were unnecessary clutter, creators of more mess and rule-breakers all. If he were perfectly honest, his ideal school would have no-one in it barring himself and his beloved Mrs Norris.

The worst offender of all the little hellions in the school? James Potter the second, the handsome young copper-haired lad had been the bane of Filch's life for the last seven years. From lighting the castle lanterns to spell out insulting messages about his least-favourite teachers to involving the entire school in mass production of paper-mache penises, which he proceeded to glue onto _every_ suit of armour in the place, James Potter had come up with some of the worst (or best, depending on your view) jokes in years.

And they'd _never_ been able to pin a single crime on him, which was what really irked Filch. James did have detentions, but only ever for missed homework or other minor infractions. When quizzed about the magical lights (even under veritaserum) he'd replied that he didn't touch a single light.

They couldn't have known that James was being perfectly truthful. He'd only instructed his gang of friends on the phrases, but he never touched a light himself. That was part of his cleverness, he knew how to work the system, and what was more, he was charming. Students (and indeed, some teachers) found it hard to dislike a boy so obviously cheerful and happy to share that cheerfulness with the world.

Still, Filch hated him, and found himself one morning in late May dancing around his office with his cat in his arms. It was the last day of James Potter's last year in Hogwarts! He was leaving, never to darken Filch's clean halls again! No more pranks! No more coming around a corner to discover someone had drawn moustaches and hats onto every single portrait while they slept!

The halls hummed with activity outside, students doubtless saying their last goodbyes, leaving presents for their favourite teachers to thank them for years of service. Filch hated that as well, the staff room would be full of them, subtly showing off their gifts and remarking on the kindness of students they had hated all year.

Filch had never got a single thing. Course not, he only kept the bloody place clean after all, he was only the one who kept the house-elves in order, he was only the flaming _cleaner_, why should the horrible little squits remember him?

'Soon have this place looking nice again now, my little love.' Filch crooned, patting his cat along her back, she purred appreciatively, as gleeful as her master at the thought of no more students for a few months.

There came a tapping at the door. Filch glared at it, certain it was a teacher come to ask him to clean up some remaining mess from the hi-jinx of the last day of term. Well he wasn't having that, he only tidied on this day long after the brats had left.

'Whadderyerwont?' he growled as he ripped the door open.

James Potter was standing there, grinning. 'Hello Mister Filch!'

Filch sneered his worst. 'You push off, you rotten little sod! I don't intend being nice to you or any other horrible little kid today!'

James didn't even look taken aback, he just kept smiling. 'I brought you a present though!'

Filch paused, then eyed the box in the boy's hands. He stepped back from the door and snapped, 'Put it on the table and back away!'

James did so, standing back and smiling, 'It's all right Filch, I didn't do anything at the box.'

The cat hissed softly, jumping onto the table and sniffing the box herself, then mewed and looked to her master. Filch, bewildered, reached out one bony finger and prodded it.

Slowly and carefully he unwrapped the box, to discover that it was a mug, written on the side in sparkling script were the words '_Thanks for being such a good sport.'_

Filch picked it up, blinking. '…All right, what's the game, Potter? Does it poison anything poured into it?'

James shook his head, 'Nah, I'm all out of ideas this late in the year. I just thought I ought to say thanks. You know, for being able to take a joke.' He winked, 'Not that I ever did anything, of course.' The boy laughed.

Filch was surprised to find himself laughing too. He turned the mug about in his hands, none of the students had ever given him anything before, he was surprised to find himself looking forward to showing it off in the staff room later.

'Course not.' He replied. '…I would have got you eventually, given enough time.'

James smirked, 'Whatever you need to tell yourself. I'm a careful person Filch.'

'So am I, Potter.' Filch replied. And then his mug made a squealing noise, and ink came spurting from the top and all over his face.

As the flow stopped and Filch stood there staring with wide-eyed shock at the boy, James leant forwards and chirped, 'By the way, I fully admit to this prank. Catch me and I'll do the time.'

And then he was running, an inky Filch on his heels. They skittered down the hallways, sending students flying in every direction. Some called out cheers to James, though all were careful not to get in Filch's way.

James leapt the last set of stairs, dashing out into the courtyard. Filch was close behind though, age was nothing when compared to the chance to finally catch the boy! He admitted to it, nothing would stop Filch now!

James reached the archway that lead to the castle bridge, but, sweet luck, the gate was shut, and the boy skidded to a halt at the great oak doorways.

Knowing he was caught, he turned slowly, hands up as Filch seized him by the back of his robe with a great and terrible cry of triumph. 'GOT YOU!'

Panting with delight, Filch dragged James the second to the centre of the courtyard, twisting him to face the school where hundreds of faces were peering out at this scene.

'See what happens when you break the rules?' an ink-covered Filch screamed, 'You get caught one way or another!'

'Mister Filch! What is the meaning of this?'

Headmistress McGonagall was striding out of the main doorway.

Filch grinned, 'You're for it now, Potter.' He turned to the headmistress. 'Look at this ink! He did it! He admits it!' he tugged James' robe.

James nodded. 'I certainly did. It's a new charm Uncle George taught me, he'll corroborate Filch's story.'

Filch laughed triumphantly. 'See?'

Professor McGonagall smiled very faintly. 'I do.'

'What are you going to do?' Filch almost capered on the spot.

The headmistress sighed, 'Mister Filch, you probably didn't hear because you were running. The last bell of the day just went. James Potter is no longer our student as of about thirty seconds ago, and therefore no longer ours to punish.'

James grinned, Filch screamed in rage, and in the school a thousand voices cheered at once, never mind the boy who lived, James Potter was the boy who beat Filch.

Oddly enough, Filch did use the mug he was given by the prince of pranksters. He always claimed it to be a trophy of a war he ultimately lost, but survived.


End file.
